Selena

Every time I get out of my car and walk into the back of Russo’s I have to remember not to hate everything I’m doing. The moment I walk through these doors I leave everything about Selena Jacobsen behind. I’m no longer she. I transform into something else, or if I’m more specific, someone else.

Star.

By day, I work at Sabrina’s school, answering the phones, chatting with the soccer moms. I mediate between the PTA and teachers, I keep the peace in the ridiculous politics that run through her school, and right now? All I can think of is the judgement that I’d get for working here. I drive the forty-five minutes west until I’m just outside of Atlanta, at my second job, the job that helps me barely scrape by and keep my family together.

Russo’s isn’t anything special. It’s a tiny club on the corner of town that you’ve either known about because of its reputation or because you’ve been a member here for ages. When I say reputation, I don’t mean anything good.

I open the back door, the hinges screech as I pull the door open. I shake my head, knowing that I’ve told Frankie about this at least five times. Anyone who wanted to could break down that door, sneak back in, take our cash, or even hurt one of the girls. I’m saying this because it’s happened before, and it’ll happen again if there aren’t any changes made. That pisses me off. We expose ourselves to hundreds of people a night, maybe even more. Some of the women here do a lot more than just expose themselves, they invite these men and women into their bodies for a price. I’ve never crossed that line, and I will never; I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t use my body as a bargaining chip.

Russo’s is a dingy strip club. I use the term dingy lightly. It’s nowhere near being the best of the best, it’s certainly not the worst, but it’s not high off the bottom of the list either.

I walk down the narrow hallway that will take me to the group dressing room. In total there are about thirty of us that work here as strippers. We rotate shifts, so no one is being favored. Tonight’s Friday, which means it’s the night we’ll make most of our cash. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been getting a lot of shit from the other girls here. I’ve worked every Friday for nine weeks. I’m not complaining, this is helping me pay my bills, but to say that I haven’t been treated badly by the others isn’t accurate. There are nasty looks, smart ass remarks, and a couple of the girls have even gone as far as sabotaging my ensembles.

“Ah! There is my STAR!” Frankie’s voice booms, and I hear her next to me within a moment. I swear, her calling me her “star” is half the reason I’m being treated so poorly, to begin with.

“Hey Frank,” I murmur, offering her a small smile. All I want to do in this moment is pull the attention off of me. If the girls around us think that I don’t see their nasty glares, they’re sadly mistaken. Of course, they probably want me to see the hatred, or maybe jealously that they have for me. I bet they hope that I’ll feel too uncomfortable and eventually leave. I laugh at that. I’ve worked here for two years. I’ve seen girls come and go, and I’ve worked my damn ass off to get where I am. The thing is, none of these bitches would dare say anything to my face. It’s good that they don’t, I know they’re backstabbing bitches anyways, and the moment that one of them confront me it wouldn’t end up too well for them.

“Are you ready for tonight, babygirl?” I nod at her question as she wraps an arm around me and tugs me further down the hall until we’re outside of the only dressing room that locks in this joint. “I was thinking, I’m tired of having you out with the other girls. We both know that there have been uh, “problems” with your outfits, so this way you’ll have a key, and none of the others can touch any of your things. I’ve already had Vail bring all your stuff in here and put it away.” Frankie slides a key in the door, turns it, and it pops open. I’ve seen this dressing room before in passing, but never have I had a moment to step inside. It’s a decent size. The furniture is a tad bit more luxurious than I was expecting, the paint isn’t chipping whatsoever. The only thing that I’m noticing is that there is another door on the other end of the room. I look to Frankie, and before I can even ask she’s speaking. “Don’t worry about that, it’s a private entrance and exit. Usually when my girls move up the pole.” She laughs at her own joke before she continues, “There are others who get jealous, so it’s not in your best interests to leave out the main way. Got it?”

I nod. I’ve never trusted Frankie as a person per say, although, I do trust her judgement and respect the way that she runs her business. She’s owned Russo’s since the old perv croaked a few years back. Before I even interviewed here, I did my fair share of research. I investigated the history of the club, read reports of the stabbings and shootings in the area that were somehow associated with the club. Most of them didn’t even check out.

The thing was if I was going to start stripping, I needed to find a club that was close enough to home, but far enough away that the likelihood of me running into anyone I knew personally was minimal. I also needed to ensure that I would be doing well. Because if I wasn’t making enough cash, what was the point in stripping, to begin with?

When it comes to the danger of the job, I’m not dumb. I know that there is a constant element of danger working here, and even in this profession, but I will continue to do whatever that is necessary for me to keep my family together. At the end of the day, that’s the only thing that truly matters to me. I will flash, grind, and sweet talk anyone if it means being able to provide for them. We’ve all suffered enough, I’ll be damned if I’ll be selfish and break my family apart.

“I’ll be back to get you in an hour, then it’s showtime, baby!”

I take my time getting ready, peeling out of my stuffy work clothes and slipping into something that most would blush about. I plug in my wand, allowing it to heat up so I can press soft, bouncy curls into my hair, that I know the gents love. As the iron warms, I go over to the closet, opening it to reveal an abundance of attire. There are more clothes than expected in here.  Definitely more than I knew I had purchased myself. Some of these I wouldn’t even have chosen to wear.

I take a glance, knowing I should probably stick to something I’ve worn before, but I don’t. I’m greedy when I see a beautiful red lace getup. I slip on the push up bra and slide on the panties that tie at both sides, securing them in a beautiful knot.

I grab my phone, opening my Spotify app and start playing Lips on You by Maroon 5; the new song that I’ll be dancing tonight. I have no problem dancing like a whore or being sensual as all hell. Tonight, I’ve chosen sensual, I am Star after all.

I find a lipstick in my makeup drawer that matches the dark crimson red of my ensemble. As I look at myself in the mirror in front of me I am pleased with how I look. It’s intimidating – to be in here alone, to not have to keep my poker face on in case the other girls are staring. In this room, I don’t have to hide what I’m feeling because there isn’t anyone to watch or to judge me. I don’t know whether this is a good or a bad thing. I just have to remind myself that one day I won’t have to do this anymore. In reality, I shouldn’t want to do this, and I don’t want to, but I won’t lie and say that when I strip I don’t feel powerful.

I know that when I dance, every single set of eyes are on me, watching every perfectly choreographed move that I make. There’s a lot that I can’t control in my life, but when I’m here at Russo’s, taking my role as Star. I know that I can control everything that happens to me. Maybe that’s why I like doing this so much. It’s the freedom, the power, the euphoric feeling in knowing that this is my stage, and every move I make is something that I’ve decided – something that no one can take away from me.

If I knew any better, I’d say Frankie bought this for me as repayment for everything that’s happened to my pieces. It’s a welcome surprise, and I’ll take it. The next twenty minutes fly by as I meticulously curl every strand of my hair, letting it bounce in a way that I know the customers will die for. I hear Frankie’s voice echoing through the club; she’s riling the crowd up, preparing them for the main event.

Me.

No matter how many times I’ve done this, it will always feel like the first time. There’s this deep feeling inside of me, my stomach coils with nervousness as I hear the shouting, the whistles, the catcalling. In theory, this should make me feel confident, but it doesn’t. I am terrified, always have been and always will be. But the moment I step foot on that stage it dissipates into thin air. Selena may be nervous, but Star will perform.

She will own that stage and leave every man in that room spilling with need and desire.

At the end of the day, she has to, because if she doesn’t, everything could fall apart.